The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (8 page)

It was clear that he detested Richer with a loathing that went much more than skin deep. And, as usual, it would be the protection of Alex’s brother which would cause the friction
between herself and her husband, she saw with a swift intuition. So be it.

‘Yes, Serlo, you leave me alone before you get hurt,’ Richer said more loudly again, with a chuckle in his voice. ‘And in the meantime, I look forward to the next court in our lord’s hall, if you persist in taking gifts. You’re reducing the amount he can expect from his tolls, by reducing the charge, and he won’t like that.’

He tapped his dagger’s hilt meaningfully and then stepped back a few paces, his eyes still on Alexander and Serlo, before he spun on his heel and left.

Alexander put his hand through his wife’s crooked arm. ‘Come, my dear, we should get back to our home,’ he said. ‘Serlo, you should join us. Would you care for some wine and meats?’

‘No. No, I’m going to get on home,’ Serlo said, shrugging off the hands of those who had held him fast. ‘Next time you try to hold me, I’ll punch some sense into your heads, you …’

Iwan smiled at him, his wrinkled old face unperturbed. ‘Oh yes? You’ll punch sense into me, will ’ee, Serlo Almeric’s son? You try it, fellow. And when you’ve come round, you can remember to be polite to your elders. Just think on: you’re in
our
tithing. If you break the King’s Peace, it’s goin’ to be me and Angot here who knock some sort of sense into
your
thick head, because we won’t pay fines for your stupidity.’

Alexander broke in quickly. ‘Don’t threaten him in my presence, Iwan. I won’t have it. If a man misbehaves in this vill, I’ll tell him, and I’ll bring it to the attention of Gervase at the castle, too.’

‘Oh, I weren’t threatenin’ him,’ Iwan remarked happily. ‘I were just tellin’ ’im ’ow it were to be.’

Serlo spat at the ground at Iwan’s feet, then barged the old man from his path. Alexander saw Iwan’s fist clench, and snarled, ‘Iwan, leave it!’

‘Weren’t doin’ nothin’,’ came the reply, Iwan’s blue eyes opened wide in innocence, and as Serlo disappeared from view, Alexander turned from the church and made his way homewards, his arm still linked with that of his wife.

As the two made their stately progress home from the church, Gervase, the steward at the castle, finished his discussion with the cook about the meals for that day and strolled downstairs, just in time to see Lady Anne and her maids leaving the chapel.

She was still small, neat and perfect, he thought. This was the woman who had come between him and his only real friend, Nicholas the castellan, first by taking Nick from him, then by stopping him from indulging in those lengthy debates which both had enjoyed so much. They had invariably been drunken affairs, meandering on late into the night; during which they had spoken of manor business and then, as the wine flowed more freely, the politics of the nation. Nick was of a mind with their lord, that the Despensers must be curbed before they took over the whole kingdom, while Gervase held the pragmatic view that it was better to have the Despensers as tyrants ruling all, including the King, because that meant the kingdom was quiet and secure. Any move to restrain them could only lead to war again, and that was to be avoided at all costs. Their disagreements never led to anger on either side. Both could lay down their opinions without offending the other.

But Lady Anne had not enjoyed having her husband arrive drunk in her bed each night, and she had sweetly suggested that they should use different rooms, if he wished to carouse the night away with his old companion. So, as Nick said, ‘just for a little while’ they’d best drop the custom.

This was only the first of the signs that Gervase had lost his friend. Nick started to take breakfast in his bedchamber with his wife rather than in the hall where the two men had been wont to
discuss their plans for the day. Now commands came down from Nick, often an embarrassed Nick, which indicated to Gervase that it was his wife who had demanded changes to the steward’s list of chores.

At first Gervase had accepted all this in good heart, knowing that it was only right and fair that Nick should be allowed to enjoy his wife. No one should come between a man and his woman. Gervase knew that well enough.

‘Master steward! Good morning. It is a fine one, isn’t it?’

He fixed a smile to his face and nodded briefly. ‘My lady, yes. And you look magnificent.’

‘You flatter me,’ she said shyly. As so often before, he felt his heart lurch as her gaze darted away from him as though she was ashamed, or fearful, of seeing too much. It was said that the eyes were the windows to a man’s soul; well, she was ever scared of seeing love in another’s face.

It was no surprise, he reflected. She was temptation made flesh. Perfect in all ways, from her flawless skin to the slim, lithe body beneath her tunic, she was enough to make any man forget his oaths.

‘No man could flatter you, Lady Anne. Flattery supposes that the comments are not merited, and in your case they are.’

She returned her gaze to him then, a smile on her lips. ‘I thank you.’

He watched as she moved away, still captivated by the thought of that lovely body … before he was wrenched back by the memory of the pain he had suffered, the loss of his best friend, and the betrayal.

It hurt so much, he could weep.

Walking quickly, Richer left the churchyard and made his way along the path towards the castle. He had not gone above a hundred paces when at the bend in the road where the trees obscured the view, his companion Warin appeared suddenly at his side.

‘Christ’s tears, I wish you wouldn’t
do
that!’ Richer declared. ‘The way you appear, it’s enough to make a man have a fit!’

His friend glanced at him. ‘Why? You think I’m more likely to give a man a fit than you? It wasn’t me who tweaked the tail of that little monkey.’

‘It wasn’t only
his
tail I was tweaking,’ Richer said smugly. ‘It was his brother’s.’

‘Don’t forget,’ his friend said unsmilingly, ‘that this is not an affair which concerns only you.’

‘I am aware of that.’

‘Good. If you upset the Constable and his brother, it may have unfortunate consequences for the tithing and the manor, and I cannot allow that.’ Warin’s voice was sharper this time.

Richer had rarely heard his tone so cool. The man was a squire, yes, and of course he had a legitimate interest in the workings of the manor and in the loyalties of the peasants because of his position with the castle, but Richer felt as though he had been deserted by his oldest companion. Their relationship had been one of mutual trust, rather that of friends or brothers than squire with his man-at-arms. To hear Warin speak so was enough to make Richer feel as he did when he prepared to ride into a battle: an awareness of danger to come.

‘This business of the tolls should interest the castle,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand why the steward does nothing about it.’

Warin frowned. ‘Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about
you
. This matter goes much deeper than the foolishness of a tollkeeper. It is an ancient feud.’

‘I never liked him,’ Richer answered simply. ‘And now, seeing how he’s treated my woman, I dislike him all the more.’

‘
Your
woman? You left her fifteen years ago, you tell me she has two brats from her dead husband, and still you call her yours?’

‘She may be mine again,’ Richer said seriously, but then he looked up at his squire and grinned. ‘Don’t worry about Serlo – he’s no real danger to us. Alex is the one with the brain. He’ll understand that all I want is to see Athelina safe, remaining in her house. They’ll work out for themselves that it’s better to do what I want, rather than have me making trouble for them. If they leave her alone, I’ll leave them alone.’

‘The two brothers together could be a risk. They are upsetting the folk about here with their depredations. They are like those other thieving devils, Despenser and his father,’ Warin growled. ‘If you keep up this affair of trying to settle an old score, Serlo might decide to harm you. Perhaps even waylay and kill you.’

‘Not while we are at the castle. Even they wouldn’t do anything while we live under Nicholas’s protection. He’s the representative of Sir Henry. No one would dare to gainsay him in the lord’s own manor.’

‘Perhaps.’ Warin’s eyes were a curious light hazel colour with green flecks. When those eyes were fired with rage, they glittered like gold shot through with emerald. Although he was large and strongly built, he was no dullard, like some of the blockheads who regularly fought in the lists, but an intelligent and educated man. Now he turned on Richer a look which seemed to shear through his words like a sword through butter.

Richer’s laugh was less certain under that scrutiny. ‘“Perhaps”– nothing! And while I’m here, I won’t have the pair of them robbing everyone including their master!’

‘Very well, but I don’t wish the area to be unsettled. This used to be a stable, secure place. I want it to remain so.’

‘Yes, Squire, and I shall see to it.’

‘Good,’ Warin said. ‘With Despenser running the land there are already too many problems in the realm without us seeking to create more here in the manor.’

‘The problems aren’t of my making,’ Richer protested. ‘I didn’t tell the miller to ask us for a gift.’

‘Yet you are happy enough to continue the argument, aren’t you? And you’d like to smack Serlo’s fat face, wouldn’t you, friend Richer?’

Those unsettling eyes were on him again, and Richer had to shrug in agreement.

He had always disliked Almeric’s family. Then, when he had suffered his own personal disaster and lost everyone belonging to him, it seemed cruel and unjust that they should have remained in Cardinham and prospered while he was absent. It served to make his dislike more intense.

Alexander and Serlo had been nasty pieces of work from as early as Richer could remember. Never the sort to leave the vill and make their own way in the world, they preferred to remain in the backwater where they had been sired and whelped, making themselves kings of this little territory. But like kings of many another small land, their rule was permanently at risk. Alexander liked to believe that he was master of the vill because he was the Constable; Serlo liked to believe that he was a prince among his peers because his brother ran things.

The brothers had managed to acquire much power and influence here, by judicious use of gossip, spreading malicious tales about others in order to enhance their own positions. When all else
failed, they resorted to threats of violence, but from what Richer had seen, that was a rare occurrence. Most people in the vill didn’t bother to argue.

If they demanded a piece of land to graze their animals, the farmer would give way. It was easier than preventing them. And in that way, they encroached on other men’s lands and increased their flocks. Small parcels were borrowed, and then after some months or a year the neighbour might see that they had put up a fence to prevent their sheep escaping, and soon that fence became a wall and hedge, and then Alexander would claim that since he’d been using the land for so long, it was easier to include it on his lands, and how much would the farmer want for it? All too often the farmer would agree to let him make use of the land because, as Alexander said, it was better for the manor that his profits were kept high, since they formed such a large part of the manor’s total profit.

Aye, Richer thought, the two had come a long way from the young lads who had been so fearful of their father, a man so drunken and stupid, he couldn’t even keep his sheep in their fold.

Warin appeared to think he had made his point and was silent for the rest of their march, but Richer was not persuaded that he was happy. Warin did not like the mess that was this little manor. There was too much corruption, and too many intense rivalries.

And they still had business with Nicholas, of course. Perhaps that was what occupied the squire’s thoughts: how to make him bow to Warin’s will.

On the Monday following these events, Simon and Baldwin bade farewell to the morose young ostler; they sent him on his way with two pennies instead of the one they had agreed on as a fee. When he received the money, he stared at the coins as though in disbelief at their niggardliness, before shaking his head in disgust and mounting his horse, leading the others away with him.

Soon Simon and Baldwin were on their way again, this time with a fellow who was as different from their last stony-faced companion as he could be; this one appeared unable to keep his mouth shut.

Ivo was an engaging youth, perhaps fifteen years old. He wore a pair of hosen that were far too large for him and which rumpled about his knees alarmingly. They were tied to his belt underneath his tunic, a bright blue-coloured wool garment which looked warm and comfortable. On his head he wore a coif with a hood, which he was constantly pulling up over his forehead, and then shaking it free, as though he was practising the best method of removing it whenever he had an opportunity.

When the hood was down, Simon saw that the lad had an unruly shock of tallow-coloured hair over his long, thin face. It was the sort of face Simon would have expected to see on a clerk: pale, with hooded eyes, high cheeks and a long nose, small mouth, and a chin which was all but non-existent – but for all that Ivo was enormously cheering company. He plainly enjoyed telling and hearing stories, the more bawdy the better. Already Simon had heard two tales of an alewife and her lovers, together with a couple of crude verses based upon a miller who tried to rob a pair of northern clerics of their grain, but who was bested by them when they slept with the miller’s wife and daughter before the daughter took pity on them and showed them where their grain had been hidden.